


Nothing's Coming Up Chase

by wrongpool



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Eating Disorders, Gen, Medical Inaccuracies, Mention of Eating Disorders, Misdiagnosis, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Sick Chase, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-03-06 11:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13410393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrongpool/pseuds/wrongpool
Summary: House gets nosy, and that's always bad news for Chase. Especially when he leaps to conclusions. Although, Chase isn't exactly the most open person, and that sure as hell doesn't help.(Set in the early House universe with the original trio, after Chase's dad's death, but devoid of Vogler and Tritter.)





	1. Weaving a Web

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes! I know House fic is rarely in demand these days, but I just recently got into the show and I miss the early season layout - plus, I love Chase. I'm gonna slap together a few short chapters of this in my free time, and it's mostly self-indulgent, but if any House fans are still out there, I hope you'll enjoy this story too!

The odd conversations, the awkward glances, the misplaced jibes. Scene by blindingly blatant scene, Chase recalled the events of the past few days and finally understood.

The taste of metal on his tongue and the searing agony that sliced his gut were suddenly dulled by panic.  He knew what steps House would take next. He knew that the doctors surrounding him, Princeton’s finest, were going to kill him.

Had Chase not been careening helplessly for the hospital floor, he would have divulged his insight, but he had figured out the source of his torment in an ephemeral flash of clarity – too late to communicate it.

It was utterly useless, Chase realised, to have foresight that could not be acted upon.

His vision escaped him before he hit the ground.

 

* * *

 

 

The dull New Jersey sun shone through the open blinds of the diagnostic lounge windows, littering the old carpet with barred light. An undisturbed whiteboard was propped up in the centre of the room. It glared at the three fellows with astounding intensity, nursing their irritation.

Chase chewed angrily at the cap of his pen. His gaze flickered impatiently between the whiteboard and the crossword in his lap as if, somehow, words would magically appear on either of their blank surfaces.  He was sprawled uncomfortably between two chairs, eyes all but glazing over as he half-heartedly tried to recall the 11 letter ingredient of a Reuben sandwich.

Chase gave up and threw his newspaper onto the glass table, dejected by his newfound need for his boss’ brain. He turned to his co-worker. “C’mon, Foreman.”

Foreman’s jaw was clenched tight, frustration seeping through his pores. He glared at his watch. “You may be willing to sit on your ass all day waiting for him – but I have better things to do,” he replied.

“If that was true, you’d’ve already left,” Chase yawned.

Cameron followed suit. She rubbed her eyes and took a healthy gulp of coffee.

Foreman glanced upwards and raised an eyebrow at him. “You know, you look like shit.”

“You’re not exactly easy on the eyes either, mate,” Chase scoffed, running a quick hand over his hair to smooth it down.

Looking as if she was in pain, Cameron squeezed the bridge of her nose, then looked up disapprovingly at Chase and Foreman. “Stop acting like a married couple. I’m starting to think that maybe –”

“Cameron,” Foreman chided, leaning forward. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about him!”

 “No,” she retorted defensively, looking between the two of them. “I’m just saying that House wouldn’t page us at 4 o’clock in the morning for no good reason.”

Foreman and Chase glanced at each other. Foreman rolled his eyes.

“Fine, then,” Cameron snapped. “There’s no way _he’d_ wake up at 4AM to page us if he didn’t have a reason.”

Foreman ran a hand over his face tiredly. “That, I believe.”

“It’s the reason that scares me,” Chase added.

Suddenly, House’s voice emanated from the doorway. “What’re you doing here so early in the morning?” He asked.

Chase turned, unimpressed, to his boss.

House glanced down at his wrist, at some sort of invisible watch, and raised his eyebrows comically. “Did we switch to daylight savings time?”

Cameron blinked at him wearily. Chase pretended to find the act amusing.

Foreman took a different approach. “What is it, House?” He snapped.

House glanced at Foreman, contorted his facial expression into something resembling confusion. “You talk to your warden like that?”

Chase put his head in his hands, tired, and let out a huge sigh. He ran a hand over his face, feeling somewhat deflated by the lack of an emergency. Perhaps Cuddy would let him work a shift in the ICU this morning so he could call it a day and wouldn’t have to do House’s clinic duty later on. They were always short-staffed.

House limped to the door of his adjoining office, looking pleased with himself.

“House!” Cameron scolded.

He turned around, annoyed, and imitated her pitchy voice. “Cameron!”

Foreman interjected, “Why are we here, House? Do we have a patient, or is this just a huge waste of time?”

House paused for a moment. He protruded his bottom lip, looked upwards and pretended to think about it. “Probably the latter,” he shrugged, after a moment.

There was a long silence in the room as no one spoke or moved.

Dejected, Chase plucked his and Cameron’s coffee from the table and started to dump them in the sink. Cameron slid her book into her bag wordlessly, then slung it over her shoulder and stood.

“Alright, alright!” House yelled, holding a hand out in front of himself as if to calm them down.

Chase froze, and raised an eyebrow at his boss over his shoulder.

“Jeez, I’ll tell you what’s going on, but only because you’re so eager. It’s time for your annual check-ups!’ He announced, blandly. “How exciting.”

Foreman crossed his arms defensively, scoffing at the proposition.

Chase turned fully towards House, frowning. “You’re giving us general check-ups?” He asked, disbelieving.

“You don’t think I’m qualified?” House asked, leaning forward on his cane and feigning offense. “But I got WebMD up and everything!” He continued sadly.

“You’re not any of our primary physicians,” Foreman argued tiredly, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair and standing.

“I’m kindly volunteering to do the job in lieu of your second-rate general practitioner.”

Cameron adjusted the bag on her shoulder and pushed her chair in. “Come on House. You had to know we’d never agree to this.”

House sneered back, which was disconcerting to say the least. He twirled his cane in his hand nefariously. “You will if you don’t want to lose your job.”

Three hearts skipped a (metaphorical) beat.

Chase’s eyes snapped towards House. He blinked a few times. “You wouldn’t fire us for that. _You can’t_ ,” he ventured uncertainly.

“You’re right,” House sighed, making his voice high and fluttery, as if he was sad that he’d been defeated so easily.

The three fellows glanced at each other apprehensively.

“But Cuddy can,” he added, his voice back to its normal roughness. “None of you have gotten a check-up within the last year, as per your contracts with the hospital, and we all know how Mommy gets about technicalities.”

“So, we’ll get them,” Foreman said slowly, “with other doctors.”

Chase shook his head at House, a small part of him disappointed by the lack of forethought his boss had given the scheme. He continued to make his way to the sink with his and Cameron’s dirty dishes. He turned on the faucet and poured out his full cup with an angry splash. The others packed up their belongings behind him.

House leaned on his cane lightly, content with… _content with what?_ Chase thought. _His plan hadn’t worked._

The cogs slowly whirred into gear in his brain. Something clicked. He turned so fast towards House and the others that he was surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash. “The board’s doing employee reviews, aren’t they?” He asked, already sure of the answer.

“Yesterday,” House said nonchalantly.

Cameron’s eyes shot open in alarm. Quickly, they darted between Chase and House. “We’re so screwed,” she whispered after a moment.

House threw his cane from his left hand to his right casually. “Not unless a doctor who, bless his heart, is well known for his forgetfulness –”

“Laziness,” Foreman interjected, catching on to House’s plan.

“– just happened to have forgotten to include his notes from a couple months ago,” House finished sweetly.

“You’re going to forge medical documents just because want your hands on our files?” Foreman mumbled.

House shrugged again, unbothered.

“Fine,” Cameron nodded, looking determinedly at House. “We’ll do it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Chase said indignantly. “As much as you want House to see you half naked –”

“We don’t exactly have a choice,” she sniped. “We’re enough of a liability working with him!”

“The board’s not gonna fire us for forgetting a check-up.”

House smiled. “But they will if you consistently disregard those oh-so-important hospital rules _and_ forget a check-up.”

Foreman frowned. “Cuddy won’t – ”

“Cuddy doesn’t have the final say. The board does,” Cameron said.

Chase crossed his arms defensively. “And when was the last time _you_ got a check-up, House?”

“Nice try, Ennis, I know you want a peek, but this tooshie belongs to Wilson,” House said, narrowing his eyes. “Besides, my record is exemplary.”

“Bull,” Chase bit.

House swung open his office door. “Don’t worry, Chase. I won’t tell anyone you’re not a real blonde.”

“You’re really not giving us a choice?” Cameron asked.

“See you at the clinic in ten!” He hollered over his shoulder.

Foreman, Chase and Cameron looked after him in shock.

“He can’t do this, right? Why don’t we just ask someone else?” Chase mumbled.

“At 4AM? The night shift is already under-staffed.”

“Shit.”

 

* * *

 

 

Begrudgingly, Cameron went first.

After being directed by a tired and snappy Brenda from the nurse’s station, she trudged to the first exam room. She took a deep breath before opening the door, and sighed loudly as she entered the room to showcase her disapproval of House’s scheme.

“Let’s get this over with, House,” she groaned, pulling the door closed with a bang.

“Sorry,” an unexpected voice replied.

Cameron’s eyes widened. That was not House’s voice. It was lighter, more sincere.

She had entered the wrong exam room.

She turned around ashamedly, her mouth opening slightly as she tried to search for the words to explain her rude interruption. She saw, however, Wilson standing before her, snapping on a pair of gloves expertly. He was sporting an apologetic look. One that, after a moment, Cameron determined was meant for her.

Perhaps House did respect their privacy to some degree, she thought hopefully. She blinked several times in confusion at Wilson, and proceeded to look around the room. Her fleeting moment of relief was smothered as she saw her boss.

House was leaning against a set of cabinets by the far wall, sucking loudly on a lollipop. Clutched in his right hand, rather than his cane, was her medical file. He held the manila folder deliberately so that she could see the words ‘DR ALLISON CAMERON’ printed in bold letters.

He glanced in her direction, disinterested, and made a loud popping sound with his mouth as he pulled the candy from it. “Oh,” he said, lazily, noticing the confusion on her face, “You thought _I_ was going to do the check-up? Why, that’s completely unethical, Dr Cameron! I’m just here to observe.”

Cameron let out an exasperated sigh.

House returned the candy to his mouth and maintained eye contact.

“Because you’re the prime example of an ethical doctor,” Wilson said, rolling his eyes at House, without turning to face him.

“I think you mean quintessential,” House droned back.

Cameron turned to glance at her boss nervously, but stopped herself immediately. She resolved to keep a neutral facial expression. House wanted her to get riled up and anxious. She’d stay silent. He’d read her medical file by now, and she could tell by his inattentiveness that he had found nothing he could tease her about. She guessed now it was just a matter of getting through the exam. She removed her lab coat and laid it on the exam table without a word.

Wilson took this as a sign to begin. He nodded at the doorway pointedly. “If you don’t mind.”

Understanding, Cameron moved to the wall. Wilson procured a tape measure and swiftly measured her height.

“Five foot four,” he stated, looking over his shoulder at House. “You were right.”

House flipped open her file and scribbled down the measurement in what Cameron could only imagine was his rushed handwriting (that is to say, illegible penmanship). He put the pen behind his ear, and again plucked the lollipop from his mouth, pointing it in Wilson’s direction. “So, you owe me a Jackson.”

Wilson motioned for Cameron to step away from the doorframe, and began measuring her waist. He mentally noted the width and moved upwards to measure her chest, not needing to instruct her to shift her arms.

“No,” Wilson chided, not taking his eyes off the task at hand, “You just owe me twenty dollars less.”

He stepped away from Cameron and repeated the waist and chest measurements to House, clinically, as though not to illicit any crude response, and asked her politely to step on the scale beside her.

Reluctantly, she obliged. It wasn’t as if she was self-conscious about her weight, but she was more than uncomfortable having to strip down before her boss and his best friend.

Sternly reminding herself that they were all professionals, she did what was required of her and patiently waited for the numbers to stop ticking on the scale.

“Did he page you, too?” She asked Wilson over her shoulder as the numbers began to steady.

House interjected before Wilson could speak. “Of course not. Wilson genuinely cares about the wellbeing of others,” he drawled, as if he was delivering an insult.

 “I’m here against my will,” Wilson half-joked, remembering how House had slammed pots and pans together outside his bedroom door until he angrily conceded to help. “He banged a bunch of stuff together until I agreed to come.”

“There’s an innuendo in there, somewhere,” House added.

“123.5 pounds,” Cameron read aloud from the scale.

Wilson leant over her shoulder to read the result, startling Cameron. “Just have to check,” he said apologetically, stepping away from her so she could redress.

As she pulled her hospital lanyard back on, House spoke.

“You’re fine, but don’t get any thinner,” he said in a monotone voice from the other side of the room. “Don’t want you losing your lovely-lady-lumps.”

Cameron felt her cheeks get warm as she pulled her shoes on. “I don’t plan to.”

Wilson busied himself with retrieving a clunky device from the desk. Cameron immediately recognised it as a blood pressure monitor and moved to the examination table. He held the Velcro banded part of the machine outwards, waiting for her to extend her arm. She did so unquestioningly, but looked up at Wilson intently as he set the band around her arm to begin compressing.

There were bags under his eyes, sure, but his shirt was pressed and his hair was gelled and blow-dried. _Would House have waited for Wilson to get ready?_ She wondered. AS the band tightened around her arm, Cameron wondered detachedly if his story was true.

“All done,” Wilson said after a minute, removing the band from her arm and smiling at her.

“That’s it?” Cameron frowned.

“I’ll just get you to read over your history and emergency contacts,” Wilson said, holding his hand out towards House.

Petulantly, like a child being forced to share his toys, House thrust over Cameron’s file.

She checked over the information. A sparse family history, besides her grandmother’s arthritis and a few other generic medical problems, check. Emergency contact, her brother, check. Primary physician, not House, check. Not that it mattered anyway.

“Everything looks right,” she said, handing the file back to House. “Thanks for doing this, Wilson.”

“It’s no problem,” Wilson said, looking down at her, smiling.

House raised an eyebrow. “Jeez, Wilson, you can do a breast screening in your own time. We’re on a tight schedule.”

 

* * *

 

 

House pressed his back further into the wall with a soft moan. He worked his tongue slowly around the rounded top and twirled it, pushing it to rub against the roof of his mouth. He let out another, slightly louder, moan before closing his eyes softly, and parting his lips slightly, so that his smacking and slurping sounds were audible to Wilson.

 “You’re insufferable,” Wilson said, his voice monotone and unconcerned.

House opened one eye, and glanced at him in fake confusion. He slowly followed Wilson’s glare at his lollipop, and then turned his gaze pointedly to Wilson’s crotch. House gasped, feigning utter offense.

Wilson blinked quickly and looked down at himself, startled by House’s sudden interest in his pants.

“How dare you!” House squawked, apparently offended. “I won’t be objectified in my own workplace!”

Wilson exhaled sharply in annoyance, understanding the joke.

Foreman rolled his eyes from the examination table, where he was hastily re-tying his shoelaces. “If you two need a minute…” He said sarcastically.

Wilson’s brow furrowed. He turned to Foreman, planning to say something in his own defence, but decided against it before he could actually speak. Sighing, he turned back to glance at his friend, maintaining a bored façade.

“Jimmy, stop! Your pants are getting two sizes too small!” House said, placing a hand on his head as if he might faint.

Wilson again bit his tongue. He almost finished with this second check-up, and then he just had Chase to go. He could hold out until then. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Greg,” Wilson replied in a terribly fluttery voice, “but you know I can’t resist a man who blackmails his employees.”

House frowned and crunched loudly on what remained of his candy. He then threw the clean stick into trash can by his feet, dismissing the conversation.

 _He can’t argue with that. A point for me_ , Wilson thought gleefully. He smiled and held out a hand for Foreman’s file.

House ignored Wilson, and flicked open the folder.

“Date of birth?” House asked, pen in hand.

Foreman responded automatically, “July 20th, 1973.”

House scribbled something down.

“Father’s name?”

“Rodney Foreman,” he replied.

“Mother’s maiden name?”

“Taylor.”

“Blood type?” House asked.

“B positive.”

“I’m trying, but these pills are the only things that help!” House cried sarcastically.

Foreman crossed his arms impatiently.

House sighed, disappointed by the lack of a reaction. “Emergency contact?” He asked.

“My father.”

House nodded, and closed the file. “And what did we diagnose the gangster with?”

Foreman frowned. “What? That’s not –”

“Just answer the question,” House interrupted.

Foreman thought about it for a moment, wracking his brain for the answer. “He had an OT deficiency.”

House nodded and limped away from the wall. Foregoing Wilson, he handed the manila folder straight to Foreman.

“Just making sure you’re still sharp after that little brain damage thing,” he said sincerely, rubbing his brow.

 _A little too sincerely,_ Foreman thought. He took the file and squinted warily at his boss.

“What?” House asked.

Foreman waited a moment.

“Well, we don’t want you to follow in your mother’s footsteps!” House said incredulously.

Foreman sighed dismissively and rolled his eyes. “There it is.”

“Good one, House,” Wilson praised sarcastically, “He was probably about to start thinking you actually cared.”

“I _don’t_ care,” House said flippantly, “But if he dies then I’ll have to go through all the trouble of finding someone called Randy Pearson to replace him.”

“Ha-ha,” Foreman said.

He began to carefully read through the general information section of his form. He trusted House’s note-taking well enough, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that House had long ago picked up on Foreman’s detail-oriented mindset, and knew that his neurologist would look through his personal information before finalising it. That meant that House had no reservations about changing his details for a cheap shot.

Working the types of cases that he had, and being a patient himself, Foreman was well aware that some inaccuracy or slip-up in his file could be the difference between life and death.

Immediately, his eyes flickered to the ethnicity section, expecting there to be some sort of vaguely racist note next to his ticked box. Surprisingly, though not disappointingly, everything seemed to be in order there. He skimmed through the general information, his date of birth catching his eye.

“Very funny,” Foreman sighed, “I was born on the April Fool’s Day because my life’s a joke, right?”

Wilson cast a tired glance in House’s direction. “Not your best, House.”

House pursed his lips in distaste.

Foreman continued to read through his family and personal history. He noticed that there were added notes about his close call with meningoencephalitis in House’s handwriting. He silently appreciated them, but said nothing.

“Anything else?” Wilson asked.

 Foreman shook his head and handed the file back to his boss.

House skimmed through the information one more time. He frowned at it.

Foreman blinked back, uneasy.

“Your mother,” he said uncertainly.

“What about her?” Foreman asked, leaning forward to see the papers again.

He looked up at Foreman, and frowned back comically. “Never mind. I forget.”

Foreman blinked confusedly for a moment before he understood. He felt heat creep up into his cheeks. He clenched his fists and his jaw instinctively, standing up abruptly. “This better get to Cuddy before she revokes our bonuses,” he snapped at House before stomping towards the door.

“Maybe I’m better off with a Randy,” House said to himself, eyes wide in amusement.

Foreman slammed the door shut behind him.

House glanced at it.

 “And are you Donna in this situation?” Wilson asked, raising an eyebrow.

House scowled.

 

* * *

 

A door slammed shut in the deserted clinic, sending off an echoed bang throughout the hospital’s first floor. Chase lifted his gaze to see Foreman storming out of the exam room. He trudged towards the elevator in a huff, ignoring Chase, who was tapping his foot nervously in the waiting room.

Cameron clucked angrily at the neurologist from the nurse’s station. She was working at the furthest desk, where the stout, freckled nurse from paediatrics usually sat. Before her lay copies of multiple patient files from emergency, circled in red and categorised into piles. They had all agreed to scour House’s unanswered consults for anything that could keep him busy. Hopefully, something that would keep him away from another pointless endeavour to satiate his sadistic curiosity.

Apparently Foreman had bigger things on his mind.

Cameron returned to her work in a huff, but held her tongue.

Reluctantly, Chase dragged himself to the exam room. He took a deep breath, then swung open the door and stepped inside.

House had a folder labelled with Foreman’s name open in front of him. He was grinning at it, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Chase had joined the party.

 “What did you do to him?” Chase asked, a smile playing its way onto his face.

House raised an eyebrow at his fellow and handed the folder to Wilson. “What? I can’t be happy if it’s not at the expense of others?” House asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Chase pre-emptively slipped his lab coat off and threw it on the exam table. “I’m not sure you could be happy at all, but judging by the way Foreman walked out of here –”

Wilson stifled a short laugh. He was reading through the file, and something seemed to have amused him.

“Foreman might just be a Forewoman,” House sang in response.

Chase frowned at his boss, thoroughly confused.

Wilson turned the page towards Chase so that he could see the ‘sex’ section of the form. It was incorrectly filled in with fresh ink.

Foreman’s chest measurements were also highly exaggerated, Chase noticed. “And just your type, too,” he remarked to his boss.

Wilson took to the papers with a pen, crossing the incorrect information out.

House banged his cane on the floor petulantly. “Aw, come on, Jimmy! You’re such a buzzkill!”

Wilson snapped the folder shut and placed it on the bench behind him. Struggling to smother a smile at his friend’s theatrics, he picked up a measuring tape and motioned towards the doorframe.

Chase nodded and closed the door behind him. This was the standard stuff. The easy stuff. It was his personal information that he was worried about. He followed Wilson’s direction, walked to the frame and pushed his back flat against it. He lifted his arms slightly so that he had access to his chest.

House pulled a file named ‘DR ROBERT CHASE’ and flipped it open. Chase’s blood ran cold.

He swallowed hard as his boss’s blank eyes skimmed through the information. Chase squinted, trying to discern House’s reaction. He didn’t know exactly what was in there, but he had enough secrets which he would rather die than share with House, and that was enough.

Wilson peered into his line of sight. “Chase?”

Chase blinked his vision back into focus, shaking himself from his thoughts.

“The scale, when you’re ready,” Wilson said.

“Right.”

Chase tore his gaze from his boss and began to undress. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful that House was distracted with the file or not. Hastily, he stepped on the scale, eager to dress himself again. He waited impatiently for the numbers to tick up.

**10… 52… 97… 124… 128… 128… 128…**

His heart skipped a beat when the numbers climbed above 70, but his confusion was short lived. He’d never quite gotten used to the imperial system.

Chase stepped off the scale. “128.1 pounds.”

Wilson, who had been busying himself with the blood pressure machine, stopped dead in his tracks.

House rolled his eyes and looked up from Chase’s medical file. He set out to say some sort of smartass comment but, for some reason, the words fell dead on his lips.

Wilson swallowed and nodded his head towards the scale. “Try again.” 

Chase frowned. “Why –”

“Because you’re either an idiot who can’t use a scale or an idiot – ”

Wilson stepped forwards and smiled reassuringly. “I need to see it to record it,” he said, “hospital policy.”

“Right,” Chase nodded.

Unnerved by House’s sudden interest, Chase’s face grew red. He stepped back on the metal plate.

**8… 35… 94… 121… 128… 128… 128…**

“128.1 pounds,” Wilson repeated slowly. He turned his head back towards House, who was irritably capping and recapping his pen.

Chase stepped off the scale.

Wilson scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “You’re… underweight,” he said delicately.

“Ha-ha.” He walked over to his pile of clothes and began to redress.

“You’ve lost 26 pounds since this was updated.” House sat down and flicked open Chase’s file again.

There wasn’t a hint of concern in his voice, Chase realised, but an all-encompassing authoritative tone. He was demanding an explanation.

Chase stopped buttoning his shirt and blinked at his boss. “You’re serious?”

“No, I’m kidding. I _can’t_ see your ribcage,” House said dismissively, skimming a finger over the page in front of him.

Chase brushed a tentative hand against his torso.

House mimicked the sound of a xylophone.

Chase glared at him.

“You know most people don’t find rakes attractive,” he shrugged.

“House,” Wilson chided.

House looked up from the file. “Did Mommy give you one of her bad habits?” He jeered. “Or is it a side-effect of the Lexapro?”

Chase clenched his jaw and slowly turned to his boss.

House’s posture was relaxed. He was leaning casually against the far wall, his cane resting beside him. His legs and arms were crossed in front of him – exhibiting the height of nonchalance. But his shoulders were tense. He looked frustrated. “Cat got your tongue? Talking burns calories y’know,” he said flippantly.

“That’s enough,” Wilson snapped through clenched teeth. An odd thought flashed through his head. He killed it and bit his lip. “Your arm, please,” he said, holding the band of the blood pressure machine in front of him.

Chase placed his arm in the strap. It began to compress.

 “I don’t take the Lexapro. Haven’t filled a single script,” Chase said blandly, shifting uncomfortably at the increasing pressure around his arm. “Some shrink Cuddy made me see when my Dad… I don’t need it.”

Wilson dragged up the stool from behind him. As he sat down, he turned his gaze to Chase. “I’m sure you know, as your doctor I have an obligation –”

“My boss isn’t exactly the type of person who lets me leave for food when I work overtime,” Chase explained, shooting a half-hearted glare towards House. “And I have been working a hell of a lot more shifts in the ICU lately,” he said bitterly. “Don’t worry, I’ll work it out.”

The B.P. machine beeped, signalling its completion.

Wilson nodded. “Fair enough,” he said, his tone non-committal. He removed the band from Chase’s arm.

House pursed his lips in distaste and threw the manila folder on the exam table. “Check your stuff.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Chase said, picking it up and handing it to Wilson without looking at it. “I checked it when I changed my emergency contact and proxy this year.”

“To Cameron? You want her wiping your ass when the nurses can’t?” House scoffed.

“You don’t?”

 “Chase! You’re a pervert!” House squawked.

Chase rolled his eyes. “I’m not the one who forced his employees to strip in front of him.”

House waved a hand at him dismissively. “Whatever.”

Chase shrugged his lab coat back on. “Are we done?”

“Yeah, leave. My clinic hours aren’t Wilson, they won’t do themselves.”

Wilson mumbled something after his breath that, if audible, would’ve probably killed the nuns at seminary on the spot.

Chase left the room as quickly as he could without running. He couldn’t put his finger on the cause, but he felt uneasy. He hadn’t noticed he’d been losing weight, which was concerning, to say the least.

Cameron slapped Chase lightly on the arm as he passed her at the nurses’ station. “Don’t you think about ditching me, too,” she chided.

He stopped and groaned softly. “Cam,” he said, “the sun’s not even up yet.”

She clucked her tongue and handed him some papers. “Fever, coughing blood, shortness of breath, muscle aches, anaemia,” she listed.

 “Right,” Chase replied.

She frowned. “What?”

“You’re right, it’s probably aplastic anaemia,” he repeated.

She tilted her head at him blearily, then looked down at the papers. “Oh! Yeah. Sorry,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“Anaemia’s not a symptom, it’s the cause,” Chase continued, tilting his head at her.

“…Right. You’re right… Why are you right?”

 “It made her more susceptible to a –”

“ – fungal infection,” Cameron interrupted.

“Right.”

She put her head in her hands. “I’m exhausted.”

“I can tell,” he laughed.

Cameron dragged herself out of her chair and pulled the mess of papers on the desk into one pile. “I’m going to go sleep in my car. Can you wake me up in a couple hours? We can do breakfast.”

“I’ll be up,” Chase promised. He jutted his chin behind him, towards the exam room. “There’s no way I can sleep after that bloody nightmare.”

She handed him the papers and gave him a weak smile. “Can’t be worse than what Foreman got.”

The familiar thump of a three-legged walk caught their attention.

House stopped for a moment and leant over Chase’s shoulder. “Oh, you have no idea. There’s not enough bleach in the world to rid me of the burden of what I saw today.”

He was only half-joking.


	2. Gang, let's split up and look for clues!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but I really hope y'all enjoy it!

Cuddy was startled from her phone call by a set of folders being slammed onto her desk. She recognised the attitude before looking up, and quickly ended her phone call before the source of her torment could yell obscenities into the receiver. She looked up at House with a blank expression and rested her intertwined hands on the desk. “Let me guess,” she said blandly, “You forgot to process these in time?”

House leant heavily on his cane, looming above her. “You know me too well, Lisa,” he smiled sweetly.

She gathered the files, flipping through them briefly to make sure everything was in order, and stood. “I needed these _yesterday_ , House,” she chided, knowing full well that her authority meant nothing to him.

He shrugged. “Cameron only finished them twenty minutes ago – don’t blame me.”

Cuddy pointed the corner of the papers towards him aggressively and stepped out from behind her desk. “You better be joking. It’s your head.”

“Yours actually,” House pointed out, “Which is why you’ll lie for me, and the board will pretend to believe it.”

She sighed. “Tell me the information is at least up to date.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. Wilson helped me out.”

“Oh, yeah? And why would he help you blackmail your employees?”

“I don’t remember,” House lied. “I made some promise about letting him paying for my dinner tomorrow?”

“He’s making you go to the oncology fundraiser?” Cuddy translated, smirking at the look of distaste spreading across House’s face.

“He’s disgustingly selfless. Could’ve asked me for anything in the world – _and I do mean anything_ ,” House said, tapping his cane on the floor and standing. “But he wants the whole team there, supporting those little cancer kiddies.”

“How terrible of him,” she replied, shaking her head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Clutching the files to her chest, she led the way to the door, holding it open for House.

He obliged with her unspoken command, limping out of the office without a word until some invisible force seemed to stop him at the doorway. “Chase,” he said.

There was a short silence.

 “Works for you,” Cuddy finished very slowly, “He’s the blond one.”

House gave her a smile oozing with sarcasm. “Now I remember. You see, I thought he worked for Dr Wells, with the amount of time he’s wasting in the ICU.”

Cuddy frowned and looked at House like he’d finally lost his mind. “Chase hasn’t done an ICU rotation in weeks. At least, he hasn’t been paid for one.”

House’s expression turned stony. Comically, he leaned his head back until he was looking directly up at the ceiling, and let out a huge sigh.

Cuddy stifled a laugh, rolled her eyes and left. Whatever House’s team was up to, it was his problem.

 

 

* * *

 

“I thought I asked you to do my clinic hours,” he barked, storming, once again, into the diagnostic lounge.

Chase glowered at his boss over a cold mug of coffee. “You asked me at 4 AM. The clinic only just opened.”

“Yet, miraculously, you’re still here,” House quipped.

“I’m assuming we don’t have a case, then?” Cameron sighed, folding up the empty wax paper on the table and wiping away crumbs.

House jutted his chin to the mess. “You ungrateful kids eat breakfast without me?”

Cameron held a wrapped sandwich towards him. “There’s a spare.”

House’s stomach grumbled in response. He reached for it quickly, but Cameron pulled it out of his reach.

“Only if you pick one of those,” she teased, looking pointedly at the stack of case files at the end of the table.

House rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he groaned. He picked up the file on the very top and flipped it open. “Mrs Flenderson.” He snapped closed the folder immediately. “Now, gimme.”

She slid the sandwich towards him, content.

After a moment of hesitation, House dragged an unoccupied chair to himself with the handle of his cane, sat down, and tore the packaging open with one hand. His eager face turned into one of distaste in an instant. “What,” he cried, dangling a piece of soggy lettuce from his fingers, “is this?”

Chase watched on with tired eyes, amused.

Cameron shrugged, “I said it was a spare, didn’t I? I never said it was a Rueben.”

“You’re evil,” House chided, “Trying to poison me like that.” He wrapped it up haphazardly and made to toss it into the wastebasket by the door.

“Hey, just give it back to Chase,” Cameron protested, “He paid for it.”

House turned back around, raising an eyebrow. For a moment, he said nothing. He froze with his arm angled for the throw, waiting for Chase to speak first.

The blond frowned at him.

“They don’t eat breakfast in Australia, Chase?”

Chase rolled his eyes. “Give it here.”

House handed it to him and watched, with a raised eyebrow, as he shoved it into his messenger bag.

“I ate earlier,” he asserted.

House glanced at his two fellows and shrugged, “I don’t care.”

The glass door to the lounge eased open. “So who’s the patient?”

“You were in on this cruel set-up?” House gasped as Foreman took a seat beside Chase.

Foreman frowned. “What?”

Cameron started, “The sandwich–”

“Oh, of course you were,” House jibed, pointing a finger at him. He narrowed his eyes. “This was a crime, and stereotypes exist for a reason.”

Foreman squinted at his boss for a moment, trying to figure out the context of his statement and then shook his head. “Do we have a case or not?”

“No – ”

“Yes,” Cameron interjected, “We do.”

House furrowed his brow in comical anger and stood up abruptly. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, walking to the whiteboard. “But we don’t need the whole department to handle Mrs Flintstone – ”

“Flenderson – ”

“ –‘s foot fungus, or whatever she has.” House finished.

“Muscle pain, Raynaud’s, edema, shortness of breath and excessive thirst,” Cameron corrected.

House waved her off. “Close enough.” He paused for a moment, turning back to his fellows. He pointed a finger at Chase and then to the door. “Scram, before someone dies of tonsillitis.”

Reluctantly, Chase set his full mug on the table and left for the clinic. House watched as the door closed behind him, and waited until he made it to the elevator to throw the patient file violently at Cameron.

“Hey!” She protested.

“She has scleroderma. The excessive thirst is because her mouth is drying out,” House mocked, as if she were a toddler who didn’t know how to tie her own shoelaces, let alone diagnose scleroderma. “She should be tested for antibodies and whoever sent in the consult should be fired.”

Cameron sighed and stood. “Alright. I’ll go get a sample.”

“Did I say you could leave?”

She frowned, pausing halfway out of her seat. “You just said – ”

“Wilma’s not going anywhere. Sit down, we’re in the middle of a differential.” House turned to the whiteboard and began scrawling down a list of symptoms.

“You found your own case?” Foreman asked, peering over House’s shoulder to read the board.

**WEIGHT LOSS**

**LOW BP**

** LYING!!! **

Cameron shook her head. “I thought everybody lied – it’s a symptom now?”

House snapped the cap back onto the marker and hit it against the palm of his hand habitually. “What causes low BP and sudden weight loss?” He asked, frowning at the whiteboard.

“Could be anything from mono to dehydration,” Foreman contested. He exchanged an exasperated glance with Cameron. “It’d be easier to ask what doesn’t.”

“Then, what doesn’t?”

“House, what are the other symptoms?” Cameron prodded.

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?”

Foreman scoffed, “You’re interested in a patient with two generic symptoms?”

House bit his lip and changed the last symptom on the board.

**WEIGHT LOSS**

**LOW BP**

** LYING!!! ** **/SHAME**

Cameron tilted her head. “I mean, it could be an eating disorder.”

“Fits,” was all House said.

“We should get a history.”

“Mother was an alcoholic, father died of an unrelated condition,” House replied, twirling the marker in his hand.

“Who is Chase?” Wilson interjected.

 Cameron and Foreman turned to the oncologist, who was closing the door to the lounge behind him, surprised by his unnoticed entrance.

“Correct for $200!” House announced, mimicking the host of _Jeopardy!_.

Wilson crossed his arms. “You really can’t keep your nose out of anybody else’s business, can you?”

“Technically speaking, it’s _your_ business. But you’re not taking your duties as a doctor seriously enough, as always,” House sniped sarcastically.

 “You’re the one breaching doctor-patient confidentiality,” Wilson squeaked indignantly.

House raised an eyebrow at him and crossed his arms. “I don’t know about that.”

Wilson looked at his friend for a long moment. “What?”

Foreman turned towards Wilson. “We didn’t know who the patient was,” he explained.

Wilson’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

House dismissed his guilty look with the wave of a hand. “It’s irrelevant. Now that they know, they can help us fill this board up. It’s looking more barren than Cuddy.”

Cameron considered House, moving forward in her seat. “You really don’t think we’re that gullible, right?” She asked.

 “How convenient that Chase isn’t here to defend himself,” Foreman droned.

 “How dare you!” House cried sarcastically. “Why on Earth would I make this up?”

Cameron shook her head and glanced over at Foreman, who looked equally, if not more, unconvinced than her. “They’re short in the ER today. I think I’ll go run these tests and give them a hand,” she said, standing up.

Foreman smirked at the look on House’s face.

“I don’t know how you coerced Wilson into this, but it’s really not convincing,” she said, making her way to the door. “Is this why you blackmailed us this morning? So you could pretend one of us was sick?”

Foreman shrugged at House as if to say, _Sorry, we’ve got you all figured out_ , and followed her out of the lounge.

House flung the marker onto the table as his fellows disappeared down the corridor and mumbled something under his breath about disrespectful kids.

“Careful, House. I’m starting to think you actually care.”

 

* * *

 

A five-year-old girl with strawberry blonde pigtails and tired eyes squirmed on the exam table. Her vision drifted blearily to the nice man’s name tag. “Greg House,” she sounded out in a hoarse voice. “Is that your name?”

Chase hesitated for a moment before looking up from the sheet that her father had filled in in the waiting room. He swallowed harshly. “Yes, it is,” he lied. “What’s yours?”

“Guess!”

Chase smiled. “You want me to guess your name?”

She nodded at him eagerly.

“Is it… Tasha?” He asked, pretending to venture for an answer.

She pointed a stubby finger at him. “You – you cheated. You read it on the paper. I saw it.”

“You caught me,” he replied, putting the file down.

She shook her head. “I forgive you anyway because you’re atchully wrong.”

He tilted his head at her in confusion, “Why’s that?”

 “I wanna different name but my momma won’t let me,” she mumbled.

Chase glanced up at Tasha’s father, who was smirking and shaking his head. “I think Tasha’s a very nice name,” he said.

“My name should be Diamond.” She said, clapping her hands together. “That’s a good name.”

 “Diamond?” Chase asked, temporarily turning his back to her in favour of the cabinets.

“I’m Diamond, and Sally from school is Pearl and – and Roger is Lightning like from the _Cars_ movie.”

“Sounds like you and your friends make a living on the wrong side of town,” Tasha’s father laughed under his breath.

Chase stifled a laugh of his own, turning to Tasha with a light and a wooden stick. “Can you open your mouth for me, Diamond?”  He asked politely.

She beamed, widened her mouth as much as she could, and made a loud ‘aa’ sound.

“Woah!” He said, “You’ve done this before.”

He shone the torch down the back of her throat, noting the redness and the inflammation. “Anything other than a sore throat?” He asked her father, removing the wooden stick and turning off the flashlight.

“She has a little bit of a fever,” he explained. “Nothing too bad but we thought we’d be safe.”

Chase nodded and pulled out an otoscope from his pocket, clipping on a disposable head. “I’m just going to check your ears now, okay? Do they hurt at all?”

She shook her head.

“Well, better safe than sorry,” he smiled.

He leant towards her and peered inside her ears.

“Are you a prince?” She whispered to him.

Chase blinked several times and diverted his gaze from the lens to look at her. Shaking his head, he moved back to his seat and grabbed a thermometer. “Why do you ask?”

Tasha’s father smirked and gave her a light poke in the shoulder. “Is it because he’s handsome?”

“No!” She protested immediately, her cheeks growing red. “It’s – it’s because he talks funny. It’s even more weirder than Aunty from Canada.”

“Uh well,” her father began. He smiled apologetically. “He’s not, uh, from around here.”

“I get it a lot, don’t worry about it,” Chase said, shaking his head, trying to ease some of the awkwardness. He eased the thermometer into Tasha’s mouth.

“Ish like a… a ashent?” She asked, pushing the device further underneath her tongue.

“Yeah, exactly like an accent,” Chase said. “I grew up in Australia and everyone there talks like me.”

Tasha’s father put a hand on her shoulder. “Y’know, in Australia, our accents would sound weird,” he whispered.

She frowned and glared up at her dad. “I don’ have a ashent.”

The thermometer steadied in temperature, and Chase removed it from her mouth. “We all have an accent, Diamond.”

“That’s stupid, House,” she reprimanded. “I’m a American.”

Chase stifled a laugh and shook his head at her, grinning. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Sorry.”

She gave a little nod, content with his concession.

Chase turned to her father, who looked a little embarrassed, and handed him a script. “She’s got a little bit of a throat infection,” he explained. “Not too bad yet, but it’s best if we get her on antibiotics for the next two weeks.”

“Thank you,” he smiled.

“Any time,” Chase replied.

A knock at the door attracted three sets of ears and eyes.

“Come in!” Tasha yelled before Chase could say the same.

The door opened slowly, creaking on its hinges. Cameron’s face peeked out through the gap. She scanned the room quickly, as if to check that Chase wasn’t conducting a prostate exam or something else horrendous, and stepped inside when she deemed it safe. Her eyes lit up when she noticed the girl sitting on the exam table. “Hi!” She said excitedly.

 “Hi,” Tasha replied.

 “Sorry to interrupt. I just need a quick word with Dr Ch– ” She caught sight of his name tag. “With Dr House, if that’s alright?”

“It’s no problem,” the father said, grabbing his daughter’s coat, “I think we were just about done anyway?”

Chase nodded. He smiled as Tasha grabbed the jacket with greedy little hands, and turned to Cameron. “Dr Cameron, did you need a consult?”

She shook her head. “I just thought I’d let you know that Mrs Flenderson needs a new diagnosis.”

“You guys are doing another differential?” He asked. “Maybe I can join. What time is it?”

She looked down at her pager. “Quarter past two. You’re free to go.”

Tasha’s father lifted her off the table after she was finally able to wrestle her little arms through the red sleeves of her jacket, and led her to the door. They made their way across the room hand in hand.

Chase smiled and waved goodbye to them.

“Uh, _Dr House_ ,” Cameron said, emphasising the name, “aren’t you forgetting something?”  She reached up behind Chase, opened one of the cupboards and pulled out a jar of colourful, cheap lollipops. She leaned down, opening it and holding the candy out to the girl.

Tasha, who had turned around, intrigued by the increase in the volume of their conversation, let go of her father’s hand and trotted excitedly to Cameron. Her little hands clasped and unclasped the sleeves of her coat nervously. Eagerly, she took a lollipop and shoved it in her pocket, so that they couldn’t take it back. “Thank you,” she whispered to Cameron.

Cameron smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Tasha walked back to her waiting father, keeping her hand fisted around the precious treat in her pocket, and turned back to look at Chase. “Sorry I said you speak funny,” she said quietly. “Bye.”

Chase gave her a small wink. “See ya, Diamond.”

She giggled and followed her father out of the room.

Cameron watched them leave, her face full of fondness. “She was cute.”

“That’s not saying much. You think eighty-year-old men are cute, Cam.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Should we go?”

“Yeah, alright. Could you chuck these out for me?” He held a sealed plastic bag out to her. Inside, the disposable otoscope head and the wooden stick he had used.

“Sure.” She plucked it from his hands, letting him use the time to scribble a few things down on the patient file. The bin was by the metal tray next to the door. She threw it inside haphazardly, barely catching a glimpse of the contents. She stopped suddenly. Something caught her eye.

It was a small, unassuming package, really. Hidden underneath an assortment of plastic disposables, and would have been completely unnoticeable if it hadn’t been so familiar. Brightly coloured wax paper, the type littered with bright fast-food company logos, peeked out from underneath the rubbish. She squinted at it. It wasn’t empty. A lump formed in her throat.

“Hey, Chase?”

No response.

Cameron turned around quickly, only to see the door was left ajar and her colleague was gone. She found him at the nurses’ station, talking to Brenda, whose face was sour and intimidating.

“This is the absolute last time,” Brenda snapped, snatching the log book out of Chase’s hands. She ripped the badge from his lab coat and stormed off.

“She really doesn’t like House, does she?” Chase scoffed, turning to face her.

Cameron shook her head and swallowed harshly before replying. “We should head up, yeah?”

He nodded and they made their way to the elevator. When the doors dinged open, they crammed themselves in beside impatient doctors and a few family members. Chase pressed the button for their floor before being crammed to the back of the space.

Like many other things in the hospital, the light in the elevator was harsh and white. It shone down in a blinding, twitching glare. It hummed, providing some sound other than the tick of watches and the tapping of nervous feet.

Cameron looked at Chase over the shoulder of a young nurse in blue scrubs. She tilted her head to the right, watching carefully as he shuffled uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. Dropping all pretences, reverting to pure diagnostic fact, she ran her eyes over his face. His eyes were sunken and tired. They had been masked before by his smile and the early wake-up call this morning, but she could tell now that he mustn’t have slept well in at least a few days.

She directed her focus to his belt but didn’t see anything unusual. Though, admittedly, Chase had never had any excess around the waistline. Swallowing hard, she looked at his arms. You could tuck a shirt as tight as you wanted to hide its bagginess, but you could always tell with the sleeves.

His cuffs were loose around his wrists.

She felt a strange pang in her heart.

Diverting her gaze at the sound of the elevator ding, she considered whether House was being genuine for the first time in his life.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Did you even go to medical school? It’s scleroderma!”_

_“The tests were neg-”_

_“So do them again!’_

_“There’s no one test that can prove-”_

_“Therefore, there’s no one test that can disprove it. Chase, do an ANA. Foreman and Cameron go do another CT and echo, and when you find out that I am, in fact, right, get her on immunosuppressants.”_

That’s where Chase should have been. Running the biopsied tissue he had just collected through the lab.

But when Foreman wandered down to where they usually worked, leaving Cameron to handle Mrs Flenderson’s distressed family, he saw no flash of blond hair through the windows. He did a double take, certain that he had simply overlooked his co-worker bent over a microscope, and the low glow of a workstation’s light on the far wall caught his attention. He moved his gaze towards it, squinting when he noticed the unfinished work strewn across the bench.

Chase had definitely been here, but he had left mid-test. That in itself made Foreman’s chest tighten. It was against hospital policy to leave the sample out. Depending on how long Chase had been gone, it might not even be useable anymore.

He swung the door open angrily and switched the light on in the lab, unnerved by its darkness.

“Chase,” Foreman called.

No response.

Foreman glanced down at his watch. House would be expecting him, Cameron and Chase back soon, if not right now.

Grumbling to himself, Foreman sat down and completed the ANA test. This was not about saving Chase’s ass. The slacker had plenty of time to do this simple test while he and Cameron had been doing theirs, so Foreman would rat the guy out to House the first chance he got. Foreman simply had no desire to wait another 2 hours for Mrs Flenderson’s husband to sign another biopsy consent form.

It didn’t take long until the test was done. Chase still hadn’t returned and something, though not anger, Foreman realised, bubbled in his chest.

Mrs Flenderson was negative for antibodies, which meant that it wasn’t scleroderma, and he had to stay late. He wished, albeit guiltily, that it had been positive so that House would send them all home early. Foreman packed up the equipment hastily and started to make his way to the diagnostics lounge. He was almost to the elevator when he heard a sound that made him stop dead in his tracks.

Cautiously, he pushed the door of the men's room open and peered inside, looking for the source of the noise. For the second time that day, Foreman ended up wishing he had just skipped the detour.

 “Come on,” a hoarse voice whispered between gags.

Foreman dared to take a step further into the room, putting pressure on the balls of his feet so as to not make any noise and alert whoever was in the room. He leant forward, peering into the closest stall.

Even from a distance, Foreman could see the man’s body trembling with exertion as he gripped the top of the water tank, desperate to keep himself upright. He was bent over, pale and breathing heavily. His blonde hair was damp and stringy, hanging over his strained face.

 “Get it over with,” Chase muttered to himself. “Just get it over with.”

Foreman swallowed hard.

Chase lowered himself to his knees, moving his trembling hands to grip the seat of the toilet, and took a deep breath. “C’mon, Chase,” he slurred, “Hurry it up.”

After what seemed like a brief moment of control, Chase began to retch. His body arched upwards and his knuckles went white as a small amount of food – nothing significant, really – made its way up his throat. An awful sound bounced off the tiled walls, a sound of choking and pain and desperateness, and Foreman felt as if he was intruding on something personal. Something so raw and hidden and unnatural and _private._ Something he should not, _could not_ , be seeing.

Eventually, the heaving stopped, and Chase’s body simply went limp. A trickling of bile and water sloshed into the bowl after that, and he choked as his body continued to force something out of him that simply wasn’t there.

He rested his sweaty forehead in the crook of his arm, taking slow, deep and even breaths to calm the hitching in his shoulders which, Foreman thought, _is exactly what I would tell him to do if I weren’t frozen solid._

Foreman did the only thing he could think of, and eased the bathroom door closed behind him. He blinked profusely, set his shoulders back, and made his way to the elevator without a word.

Trifle, unimportant memories of Chase over the past couple of years seeped into the forefront of Foreman’s mind. He stepped into the elevator and clicked the button for diagnostics.

_“Right, so I guess it’s the media and pharmaceutical companies’ fault now? Not the fact that she can’t stop shoving food down her throat. No one forced her to get fat.”_

Foreman swallowed hard and straightened his shoulders.

_“Obesity isn’t something you just grow out of,” Chase says._

_Foreman is fuming. “And you figure making her feel like crap would do her a world of good?”_

_“Yeah, if it gets her off the couch!” Chase snaps._

Foreman clutched the test results in his hands tighter. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

_Cameron turns to House angrily. “Her mother wouldn’t give her diet pills.”_

_“Yeah, she thinks her daughter’s perfect just the way she is,” Chase says sarcastically._

Foreman bites his lip and stares straight ahead.

_“I think we should be telling our kids it’s fine as long as they’re healthy.”_

_“Oh, right. You weigh 90 pounds because it makes you healthier?” Chase seethes._

A strange pang hits Foreman in the chest. He was clenching his fists for some reason.

_“Everything in society tells us we have to be thin to be successful,” Cameron points out angrily._

_“No, society tells you that you have to be thin to be attractive. And guess what, that’s what attractive means: that society likes looking at you,” Chase retorts._

The elevator dinged and Foreman stumbled out, murmuring apologies to those he shoved out of his way. He walked hastily to the diagnostic lounge. He could see Cameron and House already there, arguing about the results of the echo, no doubt.

_“If I was that fat, I’d be pretty tempted to knock back a bottle of pills,” Chase spits._

Foreman thrusted open the door, immediately gaining the attention of his company. “I think we should talk about our _other_ patient.”

“The ANA was positive?” House asked hopefully.

_"Enough, already, okay? We got it. You hate fat people.”_

“No, we have a bigger problem.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave me a review if you have anything at all to say, it's a small community and I'd love hear your thoughts!


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